


allegro con spirito

by gayicedlatte



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: M/M, Music, pre-sc david
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 04:50:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21010022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayicedlatte/pseuds/gayicedlatte
Summary: He doesn't remember the first time very well. With more than one mind-altering substance in his system and his heart broken beyond repair, it had been an impulse decision, something to distract him that didn't require any interaction.





	allegro con spirito

**Author's Note:**

> I have 0 actual knowledge of classical music and the new york philharmonic so don't drag me okay I was just greatly Impacted at the symphony
> 
> if you're interested this was inspired by brahms' symphony no. 2 in d major, op. 73 and the name comes from the fourth movement which hit me Differently
> 
> also I did not revise this nearly as much as I usually do so please forgive any mistakes

He doesn't remember the first time very well. With more than one mind-altering substance in his system and his heart broken beyond repair, it had been an impulse decision, something to distract him that didn't require any interaction. 

What he did remember, was his hair standing up on the back of his neck, spine tingling at the first crescendo. 

It became a regular ritual. So regular that he paid the box office to charge him a ticket to every single performance in case the impulse struck him suddenly. 

It usually struck once or twice a month, when drugs, alcohol and sex stopped being enough for any kind of relief. 

Soon enough, he had the routine down pat. Slide into the auditorium as the lights go down, into the cheaper seats in case any of his parent's society friends attended. Intermission was spent in the corridor or bathroom if he saw someone who may recognize him, his seat if he didn't. Slip out after the first round of applause. He always lamented missing any encores but it was worth it to keep this to himself. 

The philharmonic became an intimate, restoring place for him. As soon as the music started he was captivated, every time, without fail, whatever they played, whoever was featured. His eyes would unfocus, black formal wear merging with the burnt orange of string instruments, seeing only the pulsation of the violin section, ebbing and flowing with the music, bows rising and falling sharply, piercing his lungs and stealing his breath. 

It didn't matter what he saw, though. Because what he heard stripped him bear, tearing down carefully built walls, airing out his heart, allowing him to breathe deep, deep enough to bring life back to him. The things he kept tightly bound within him breaking free and swelling to fill him with every rich note. 

It was the only place he could be vulnerable without fear. His emotions got the release they deserve without retaliation, without dismissal, without neglect. Alone and anonymous in the dark, where he doesn't matter and can be whatever he needs to be.

No one knew about it. Not a single person. He almost told Sebastian once, feeling drunk and unseen and now he's grateful he didn't, finally seeing him for what he was, knowing it would've been just one more thing he could use to tear him down, pull him open and leave him bruised.

It's really the only thing he genuinely misses about New York specifically. The first time it really hits him that he won't have that anymore, he ends up sitting on a table at the veterinary clinic. 

Youtube recordings and noise cancelling headphones get him through for a while, until he finds something else, something that starts to give him a fraction of the relief he's missed. 

Patrick Brewer.

It's different of course. Feeling seen and bared by another person was ten times more fulfilling and terrifying than letting a string of notes crack him open. It takes months for Patrick, patient and kind, to peel back layers that could be decimated in a single movement by the symphony. 

It's worth it, so very worth it.

So when Patrick is tipsy, laying on his side next to him in his bed and asks David to tell him something he's never told anyone else, he does. 

He tells him about his time spent at the New York Philharmonic, trying to describe pieces and movements from memory. He knows nothing about the music itself, about the instruments, but Patrick helps him along, suggesting words David needs when he struggles to describe a sound. 

He tells him all about how it made him feel open and seen and nurtured, about how badly he'd needed it the week after Rachel appeared, about how he truly missed it for a long time when he came here.

About how the way Patrick made him feel made him miss it less.

Eyes glassy and slurring cutely Patrick says, "You'll go again. I'll make sure of it. I promise." He kisses David's fingers before they fall asleep.

It isn't brought up again until David has 4 gold rings and, he can hardly believe it, a husband. 

The first morning of their honeymoon, there's a thick envelope sitting on their dining table with his name in Patrick's scrawl on the front. 

He opens it, dropping two weighty tickets on to the table and tears prick at his eyes reading them. When Patrick appears in front of him, smiling bashfully, he wraps him up in his arms, squeezing like his life depends on it. 

Patrick pulls away just enough to look at him. "I--I got two tickets but if you want to go alone, I would completely understand. Really, please don't be afraid to tell me--"

He's cut off by David cupping his face and closing his lips over Patrick's, soft and warm. 

When he pulls back, David is shaking his head. "I would absolutely love for you to come with me."

This time, sitting in the dark auditorium, it isn't the rapture it was before but he squeezes his husband's hand and realizes he doesn't need it anymore.


End file.
